Anthem of the Angels
by Shadow-Walker-Locke
Summary: *Sub-Fic to my story Let's Watch Supernatural in No Particular Order, Shall We?* Dean is a new demon, and is carted off to Hell in order to learn all he must so that he doesn't kill his brother or angel. Castiel believes Dean to be dead, and Sam can't survive for long without his brother around. *Idea by kcthehunter*


**Hello readers! Kcthehunter gave me a great idea for this story, after I began with 'Let's Watch Supernatural in No Particular Order, Shall We?" It takes place when the future Dean and Crowley are from (2015). My own version of season 10.**

**Pairings: Crowley/Sam – Dean/Castiel**

**Oh, by the way, each chapter title is named after a song by _Breaking Benjamin_.**

**On with the story!**

_**Chapter one: Dance with the Devil**_

Deans eyes opened, and he was instantly confused.

Last he remembered, he was being carried out of a factory by Sam, dying in his little brothers arms. He remembered saying _'I'm proud of us' _to Sammy, and hearing his brother beg for him to come back as he faded into blackness.

But how had he gotten back into his room?

His hand was on his chest, gripping the First Bade – which he was pretty sure he left on the floor back at the warehouse, by the way – and he was flat on his back, which was highly uncomfortable. And his vision was different; everything was more vibrant, with little waves of colour – mostly orange – coming off of them.

"Hello, Dean," a familiar voice interrupted his thoughts. Dean blinked, sitting up to see Crowley standing at the foot of his bed, a small smile on his face. "How do you feel?"

Dean grimaced. "Surprisingly good, for a dead man. How about you?" he snarked. Crowley grimaced. "I'm fine, but if I were you I'd look in a mirror."

Dean got off the bed slowly, his head pounding as soon as he moved his feet. He groaned, holding his head as he sat on the edge of the bed. Crowley held out a hand, which Dean took. As soon as he was helped up, Dean slowly made his way to the mirror on the other side of his room.

As he looked in, he couldn't believe what he saw. He was there, whole and without any wounds, but his eyes...

They were demon-black.

"What's happening to me?" he asked, voice shaky. Crowley sighed. "The Mark turned you into a demon, a Knight of Hell to be exact, the same as Cain." Dean saw a tear leak down his cheek. "I-I can't be a d-demon!" he whispered, leaning his head onto the mirror. Crowley placed a hand on his shoulder gently. "Not all demons are killers, Dean. I mean, look at Cain; he turned his back on killing because he loved a simple human girl. You can learn to control your bloodlust, just give it time."

Dean looked up, the black in his eyes glowing slightly. "What if I don't want to control it?" he asked in a low tone.

Crowley pulled Dean to face him. "Think of your brother, and your Angel; would they want you to kill innocents?" he asked quietly. Deans vision went back to normal, and he knew his eyes returned to their normal green. "No," he replied in a whisper, looking to the floor. Crowley sighed. "Let me teach you how to use your powers, down in Hell. A demon who can't control his powers is dangerous, especially a demon with as much raw power as you now have."

"I don't want to be a monster," Dean broke, falling to his knees and letting a sob escape his lips as he buried his face in one of his hands, letting the tears flow. Crowley kneeled in front of him. "You aren't a monster, Dean. A monster doesn't care about who he hurts. You do, and you always have, no matter whether you were in Hell or here. You may be a demon, but so long as you don't kill those who don't deserve it, your soul will remain pure."

Dean let Crowley pull him into his arms, and he felt the floor beneath them shift. He looked around, noticing that they were no longer in his bedroom, but in a nicely furnished office. The walls were mahogany panels, and the floor was a crimson carpet, so fluffy that Dean wanted to stay on it forever. There were bookshelves lining one entire wall, on the right of where there was a double oak door, and a large desk in the middle. There were three chairs, two in front and one where the computer was. Two love seats and a coffee table were on the wall opposite of the mini library, both a chocolate colour that matched the rest of the furniture.

Crowley pulled him to his feet, and Dean stumbled a bit. "Whoa, there, Squirrel, small steps, that's it," he urged Dean, leading him to one of the love seats. Dean fell on one, groaning. "Where are we?" he asked. "My office," Crowley replied softly, sitting beside him.

"What about Sam?" Dean questioned, wiping away the tears. "Safe in your Bunker. But I can't allow you to see him until I know for certain that your powers are under control. I doubt that you would _want _your brother dead."

Dean took a deep breath.

"When do we start?"

**-Don't Mind Me, I'm A Line Break-**

Castiel, former Angel of the Lord, knelt in Metatrons office, pain lacing his soul. He let out an anguished scream, drawing many of the Angels currently in Heaven to the room in a panic.

"_DEAN WINCHESTER IS NO MORE!"_


End file.
